


I: Anchor in a Storm

by viceversa



Series: Soulmates A-Z [9]
Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M, Poker Night, Soulmate AU, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, in the form of tattoos, therapy sessions, they're in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:08:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29640015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viceversa/pseuds/viceversa
Summary: It takes some nudging from Grace and a poker night to get Jack and Gibbs together, but it's all meant to be.-i...dentifier (a word or symbol which is imputed to your soulmate is somewhere on your body).
Relationships: Jethro Gibbs/Jacqueline "Jack" Sloane
Series: Soulmates A-Z [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2149590
Comments: 12
Kudos: 50





	I: Anchor in a Storm

It took nearly his entire session, but Gibbs finally forced out the reason he’d been a little off the past week to the point of Leon mentioning it to Grace. She only had to hint a few times for him to come in.

“It was the anniversary of my mom’s death. Went to the cemetery, brought flowers. Hittin’ hard, this year.” He shrugged. “Don’t know why.”

Grace hummed. “You know grief isn’t linear. Some days - or years - can feel different than others.”

Gibbs shrugged again, his preferred method of communication. 

“Tell me about her, what was her name, what was she like?”

“Her name was Ann. She, uh,” he smiled at the memory. “She used to pour chocolate over apple pie.”

“I bet she was proud of you as a kid.”

Gibbs shrugged, uncomfortable at the reminder that she wasn’t there for most of his life. “Don’t know.”

“What about your father, what was he like after?” Grace prodded, keeping on topic.

“He blamed mom for everything. He was angry she died, the way she died, for a long time. Losing a soulmate is, especially like that...” Gibbs stared at his hands, glancing up occasionally. 

Grace’s eyes asked the question. 

“She took her own life, when I was 14. She had cancer, didn’t want to be a burden, didn’t wanna suffer anymore. I figured it out, understood. Didn’t make it any better.”

“That must’ve been incredibly hard, Gibbs.”

He let the remark hang in the air, not needing to confirm or deny it. 

“What were your parents like, together? Before she got sick?” Grace asked after a minute.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” The question came out defensive, even if he didn’t intend it to be.

“Well, I’m curious, for one. The way people act in relationships can say a lot about that person. The way our parents interacted when we were young has a profound impact on our own relationships,” she said pointedly.

“Ya wanna talk about my ex-wives, Grace?” he raised his eyebrow. 

“We don’t have enough time left.” She adjusted the way she was sitting, getting straight to the point. “I mean, I assume Shannon was your soulmate?”

Gibbs barely flinched at the name. “Yeah,” he confirmed, wondering where she was going with her questions. 

She saw he was getting wary and changed course slightly. “What is your identifier? If you don’t mind me asking. I find that stuff fascinating.”

His hand moved unconsciously, covering his side. Under his shirts, a fully bloomed rose perched at a tender spot over his ribs. He wasn’t completely oblivious to the symbolism - deep love, but a love that was in full bloom so quickly meant it wouldn’t last forever. You couldn’t keep a cut rose alive. 

“‘S a rose, big one,” he said. He could tell Grace wanted to see it, but he wore his layers for a reason. It had faded slightly over time, but it remained stark against the pale skin on his side. 

“I have a doberman on my thigh,” supplied Grace, slapping her hand over the area. “Took forever to get big enough to where I could make it out.”

Gibbs huffed out a laugh at the thought. “Yeah my marks were a mess when I was a kid. Took a while to form.”

“Wait, marks?” Grace sat up, intrigued like a dog with a scent. “You mean to tell me you have two identifiers?”

Gibbs remained silent, slamming his walls back up. He didn’t mean to let that slip. 

“Gibbs - you do know how rare that is, right? I mean, two soulmates? Holy hell.”

He cleared his throat. “Can be genetic… ya know. My mom had two marks. Never told me, but uh, I figured it out eventually.” He took in Grace’s dumbfounded look. “My parents had matching chickadees on their shoulders.”

Grace was visibly holding herself back from asking about him, but went with Gibbs’ lead on the story. “Soulmates, but your mom had two, you said?”

Gibbs ducked his head, nearly embarrassed to talk about it. “I found out a few years ago that the man I was named after was in love with my mother. LJ Moore. Confirmed it without saying. Told me he carried her over his heart.” 

Gibbs had looked into LJ’s military file after his death and saw that he had a jasmine flower on his chest. He could only imagine it matched his mother. It was no wonder she’d been so calm when she saw that he had two marks as a kid, too. 

Having two soulmates was a burden, as he saw it. Lucky and cursed at the same time.

“Wow, Popeye. That’s heavy. What happened with them? Love triangle?”

Gibbs eyes darkened. “It’s complicated.” 

“It always is,” Grace replied gently. “Two soulmates, at once? I don’t know how she managed, especially back then. How did she choose?” she asked almost to herself. 

“She didn’t have to. LJ was black, and an interracial relationship back then in Stillwater?” Gibbs shook his head. “She and my dad got married, and LJ was a family friend until I was 14. Second dad to me. Reason why I joined the Marines.”

“I want to know more about this, Gibbs, but we’re off topic. You have two identifiers. Knowing what your mother went through, your dad and LJ, and I hate to ask this question believe me, but how does that make you feel, to have a second chance?”

Gibbs stared down at the floor between him and Grace, silent. His mind was blank. He looked up at his friend and shrugged, honest. “I don’t know.”

Grace’s phone buzzed and Gibbs made a hasty exit, a lot to think about.

-

Jack didn’t have anything specific to bring up with Grace in her session, but she went anyway. They always found something to talk about after all, and she let Grace steer the questions. 

As had become a pattern in the last few months, their conversation turned to relationships, or her lack thereof. 

“So, have you tried any of those dating apps we talked about last time?”

Jack rolled her eyes and crossed her legs, not even trying to disguise her body language at the question. “I can’t force myself to. What self-respecting guy my age would use those things? I’d probably get the weirdos.”

“Eh, maybe you’re right,” Grace conceded. “I haven’t had much luck myself, but you never know until you try. When was your last date, again?”

Jack gave her a look. “You know when.” Attacking a man in the middle of a restaurant hadn’t left a great impression on her dating life.

“And it didn’t exactly end well, I know. But there’s no chance that on your next date you happen to run in to the man who tortured you again. He’s very much in jail.”

“Yeah, well. You never know,” she deflected. 

Grace studied Jack and decided on a different approach. “We’ve never talked about soulmates. Do you have an identifier?”

Jack’s mouth opened and she nearly sputtered. “Well that’s a direct question.”

“Yeah,” Grace shrugged, nonchalant. “I have one. Big doberman, right on my thigh, drawn by the gods or the cupids or the fairies or whatever you believe in.” The session she had with Gibbs the week before had been in the forefront of her mind, and she’d been looking at her clients through a soulmate angle for a lark. “You know there are sites out there that match up identifiers, you just have to submit a picture.”

“I’ve seen the ads,” Jack dismissed again. “Those services seem so hollow, you know? Like a mail order soulmate.”

“What does it matter, how soulmates meet? It’s pretty hard to walk around half naked your whole life, depending on where your mark is, hoping to pass by someone who matches.”

Jack’s eyes darted around the room, not entirely comfortable with the conversation. 

“Well, no. But I always imagined it’d be a little more romantic. It’s a little childish, I suppose, but I thought it’d be perfect to meet your match and get to know one another first, then find out you were soulmates.” She shrugged, trying to brush off her emotions. “But if that hasn’t happened by now, I doubt it will.”

“Only 64% of matches meet organically,” supplied Grace, having looked up the statistics recently to have them the next time Gibbs darkened her doorway. “That’s a high percentage, considering, but since mates have shared life experiences they tend to end up in the same places. It’s not entirely unlikely to hope for that.”

Jack held herself back from turning the conversation to Grace - she was so proud of her doberman but she wasn’t matched with anyone as far as Jack knew. But it wasn’t the time to ask. 

Grace continued. “Recent studies say that almost 20% of reported matches in the last thirty years have been found remotely, thanks to the internet. The other 16% never find their match.”

Jack thought about the statistic. Not everyone was born with an identifier in the first place, and not everyone who matched up had a long, healthy relationship either. There weren’t any guarantees. “I don’t even know if I want to meet them, to be honest,” she ended up saying. 

“Why’s that?”

“What kind of crazy, damaged person would end up being my soulmate?” Jack was only half joking, fully aware of her baggage. “We’d probably end up eating each other alive.”

“Or you could compliment each other, have shared experiences,” Grace said. “Do you buy into the symbolism of the identifiers?”

Jack thought for a moment. “From what I’ve heard and seen in case studies, I do to an extent. The symbols aren’t totally random, they can’t be.”

Grace nodded and continued with her point. “Dobermans, for instance, have trust issues, but they’re fiercely protective of their own. The symbolism points to getting the truth out of someone, interrogating until you’re satisfied. That isn’t just for a relationship, Jack, it says something about my personality.” 

“My mark,” Jack started, suddenly wanting to tell someone. “My mark is on my back. Right in the middle. An anchor.”

Grace nodded in acknowledgment of the information. “That’s a good mark, Jack.”

“I was afraid it was ruined, when I was in Afghanistan. It practically served as a target for the whip he used.” Jack said it confidently, having already processed her time as a POW to Grace in detail. “But it’s still there, bled through the damn scars.”

“Strong and steady,” Grace added. “Anchoring you to something - an idea? The ability to hunker down and bear a storm, moored to hope. It sounds like a steady foundation, Jack. And the placement, in the middle of your back, that has some strength to it as well. In an ‘I’ve got your back’ kind of way, there’s a lot of trust in that position.”

She didn’t answer for a moment, lost in her thoughts. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I usually am,” Grace answered, lightening the mood. “But you, on the other hand, have made no move to find your matching anchor?”

Jack answered that with a look, and Grace sighed. 

“Well, between now and the next time we talk, I’d like you to think about  _ maybe _ attempting to try to look for someone, sound doable?”

Jack relaxed her glare and smiled at her friend. “Sounds doable. I’ll see you in a couple weeks?”

“Sooner! Next weekend is poker night, is it not?”

“Oh right, completely forgot. Well I’ll see you then, then.”

“Bring those chips I like!”

-

Poker night was an established, monthly-ish evening where the group got together and tried to leave work behind. Unless the story or case was a funny one, topics steered away from their usually stressful careers and revolved around the mundane. 

That usually led to a significant amount of teasing and joking, which lightened everyone’s mood. Poker night was nearly sacred, a ritual almost. 

Everyone brought either snacks or drinks. Pizza was usually ordered. And as the night went on, winners generally started bragging rights immediately, which meant Grace was in fine form that particular poker night. 

“Ha! Flush! Push that cash at me, boys.”

Leon huffed and helped Grace rake in the chips she’d won, and Fornell just rolled his eyes, crossing his arm like a child. Jack left the table to refill a few drinks, and Gibbs gathered the cards for the next round.

“Was that the third hand in a row, or the fourth?” Grace asked rhetorically, near-giddy at her winning streak. There would be one more hand before they all called it a night.

“No need to be mean, Grace,” chided Leon. “It’s just an off night. For everyone but you, apparently.”

“An off night?” Fornell exclaimed. “I’m calling this a ripoff! She’s gotta be cheating.”

“She’s not cheating, Tobias. We’re just losin,’” said Gibbs, shuffling out his frustration. 

Fornell was undeterred from making comments, three beers making him even more talkative than usual. “No no no. I call this rigged. Like, damn Grace, have you been hiding a four-leaf clover identifier or what?”

“You know, they ban those in professional poker tournaments,” commented Leon. 

“Ha! You wish it was that easy, Toby. I’m just naturally talented.” Grace nodded at Jack when she came back in and offered another beer.

“Or you have a poker chip tattoo on your ass,” Fornell added. 

Grace snorted and Jack laughed, nearly tripping as she sat back down. The whole table had been drinking a little more than usual, which likely contributed to Grace’s winning streak. 

“More like a doberman on my leg that would eat your identifier alive,” Grace bragged, her voice mocking locker room talk. “No doubt you’re the one with a butterfly on your ass.”

That got the table to laugh, much to Fornell’s displeasure. “A doberman, huh? I won’t go for the obvious comment there, but rest assured that my identifier is infinitely more cool.”

Gibbs laughed at the comment and the table turned toward him but he shook his head, obviously not willing to share. “If you say so, Tobias.”

“Oh this I have to hear,” prodded Jack. “A ladybug, maybe?”

Grace cackled and Fornell’s hackles rose. “If you must know, it’s three triangles on my chest. Mind, body, soul, represented in harmony, all in the strongest shape.” Fornell gestured proudly, even sitting up straighter at his pronouncement. 

“Oh real fancy, triangle man,” Grace teased, secretly pleased to know this about him. 

Jack shoved Fornell’s shoulder slightly. “That’s not bad. No ladybug, though.”

“Oh please, it beats a dog!”

“Hey!” Grace kicked him under the table.

“Alright already!” Gibbs shouted. “We playin’, or what?”

The table settled down as Gibbs dealt out the next round, everyone taking a few minutes to keep and reject cards, strategizing their moves for the hand. 

“It is interesting how different identifiers can be,” Leon said conversationally. He was somewhat talkative during poker, especially when he had a good hand. “Shapes, animals, objects. Sometimes just blobs.”

“Like inkblots,” said Jack. “I’ve seen those in journals before.”

“More ladybugs,” grunted Gibbs, prompting a smile from Jack. 

“I once tackled a suspect with half his face covered in the rear end of an animal. I think it was a horse or something.” Fornell snorted at his own story. “No wonder he turned to a life of crime.”

Gibbs laughed and placed a bet, letting the round go for a moment before their conversation continued.

“Did you hear those urban legends growing up where someone had, well, male genitalia on their forehead?” added Grace. 

“At my school it was all about cuss words,” said Jack. “Or someone covered in hundreds of them.”

“Oh words are pretty rare, I’ve heard,” said Leon. “Couldn’t imagine having a single word connect me to someone. It could say anything.”

“Hmm,” said Jack, placing a bet. “Shoe.”

“Butter,” muttered Grace, half distracted by her cards.

“Banana,” drawled Fornell. 

“I call,” said Gibbs, trying to refocus on the game. He noticed that Leon was still talkative, and trained his eye on him to gauge his hand.

“I like the symbolism that comes with a picture,” said Leon. He gestured to his forearm where his identifier was. “My lighthouse, for instance. Safety, hope, overcoming challenges. Says a lot about a person, a relationship.”

“It’s all luck of the draw,” said Jack, moving her chips around. “No pun intended.”

“What’s yours then, Sloane? Based on how you’re doing tonight, you’re not hiding any good luck charms either,” said Fornell, obviously agitated at the way his hand looked. 

Jack made eye contact with Grace for a second, both of their minds flashing to the session they had earlier that week. Jack smiled, feeling like she could take a step toward the trust in her friendships she had been working on. “Depends on how you look at it, really. I consider it good luck, having an anchor on my back.”

Next to her Gibbs inhaled his sip of beer and choked on it, prompting Leon to thump on his back for a second until he could breathe again. Everyone looked at him and he just moved on, placing another bet. 

Jack watched him for a second longer than everyone else, about to ask if he was okay, but she relented at the slight shake of his head.

Fornell folded immediately, lamenting loudly from his end of the table. “Please, god, let someone else at this table beat Dr. Grace the dog woman, just once tonight!”

Jack rolled her eyes at his dramatics and held on for another second until she saw how steady Leon looked, folding and leaning back with her wine, silently on team Grace. 

Gibbs, Leon, and Grace all stared down each other. Feeling that it would take a while before one of them made a move, Jack tried to play the room in Grace’s favor by distracting Gibbs. 

“We’ve all shared, how about you Cowboy? Got a lucky horseshoe under all those layers?”

Gibbs sniffed, unfazed by her attempt at distraction. “Nope. Rose.” 

Eyebrows rose around the table at the frank comment, but Gibbs held steady in his poker face, unintimidated by Grace or Leon. Jack immediately wanted to know more about this rose of his, but she was stopped when Fornell had to make a comment. 

“You had the audacity to laugh at my triangles when you’ve got a flower over there, Gibbs? Hell, I’d rather have a dog,” he said in good humor.

Gibbs cracked a smile at that, the rest of his body locked into poker mode.

“Oh that is so not the point, Toby,” Grace complained at him, trying not to be distracted by her knowledge of the second mark Gibbs had. She then noted Leon’s silence for the last few minutes she finally raised, watching him fold right after. 

“This is getting too rich for my blood,” Leon noted, pulling out a toothpick and watching his friends come down to the last round. 

Grace turned her sights to Gibbs. “I got you pegged, Popeye. You’re not winning this one after your pitiful losing streak tonight. And in your own house too - I bet you’re bluffing because you can’t run away in shame.” Grace wasn’t exactly proud of her trash-talking skills, but where she lacked she made up for in enthusiasm. She wanted to finish her winning streak.

“I don’ know, Doc. Ever heard of a second chance?”

Grace’s eyes flared open for a second, caught off guard and further shocked when he layed down a straight flush, leaving her to drop her full house on the table in defeat, losing half the chips she’d accumulated that night. Her mind raced, certain things clicking into place as she processed the subtext of the last few minutes.

Fornell, completely out of the loop, jeered Grace, but Jack noticed as something passed between Grace and Gibbs, a silent question that he refused to answer, instead collecting his winnings with a smug smirk.

“A near-perfect streak, Dr. Grace, you should be proud,” said Leon as he stood, more than ready to head home for a good night’s sleep. “Fornell, you can gloat another time, I’m your ride.”

“Yeah Toby, can’t gloat about a losing streak!” Grace laughed.

Jack stood as well and started to gather glasses and empty pizza plates as it was her turn to clean up. Grace and Gibbs counted their chips and added the totals to their ledger, waiting for the next payout game. 

Jack escaped to the kitchen, yelling her goodbyes as Leon pushed Fornell out the front door. Grace loitered for a second, claiming the leftover pizza and saying something to Gibbs by the door.

Grace just had one piece of advice for Gibbs’ ears only: “Don’t mess this up, Popeye.”

-

Jack wiped the crumbs off the table and finished throwing out the trash as Gibbs finished putting things away in the kitchen. She was about to start in on her goodbyes, but before she could Gibbs gestured to the living room. 

“Bourbon?” he asked. 

Jack knew the implication of the offer and accepted - having a bourbon meant having a few and spending the night on the couch. She’d done it more than once, each time the night strengthening their bond a little more. In some ways it was an honor to be the chosen one Gibbs wanted to spend time with, and in others Jack wondered if it was enough, if just friends was sustainable when they did stuff like this.

“Don’ think I ever saw Grace win that much in one night before,” Gibbs started, handing Jack a generous glass and taking a seat next to her on the couch. 

“I think it’s a record. Then you had to go and ruin it for her,” she laughed.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, reflecting on their night with friends and drinking the bourbon. Jack noticed that Gibbs was a little fidgety beside her and gave him a look.

He had his ‘uncomfortable emotions’ face on, and she didn’t have to wonder why. The only thing remotely personal they discussed that night were their identifiers over the last hand. Everyone knew Leon’s, by virtue of it being on his arm, and she figured Gibbs knew about Fornell’s and Grace’s, as neither one were coy about them. 

The only unknown to him would’ve been hers, which wasn’t a huge deal. Sure, she hadn’t exactly shared it with everyone she met, but it was a step toward trusting her friends a little more and it felt right to share it. 

The only thing that could’ve made him uncomfortable was disclosing his own mark - a rose, he said. Maybe he wanted to talk more about it, process mentioning it a little.

“So, Fornell sure is proud of his triangles,” she said, trying to bring it up tangentially. 

Gibbs snorted lightly. “Yeah, he is.”

“Between you and me, a rose is a lot cooler to have.” Jack immediately gave up on the subtle game, deciding it wasn’t for her. 

Gibbs froze for a second, hesitating, then made up his mind. He knocked back the rest of his bourbon and sat the glass on the coffee table. It was now or never. “Do you want to see it?” he asked, already standing. 

“Your mark? I mean, sure, Gibbs. You don’t have to show me.” Jack followed his lead and finished her own drink.

Gibbs tugged off his hoodie and tossed it on the couch, then tugged up his white undershirt enough to show his ribs. He tried not to look self conscious as he angled his body slightly for her to see it.

Jack stood to look at the identifier properly, nearly reaching out to touch it before pulling her hand back. It was a vulnerable moment for both of them. “It’s beautiful, Gibbs,” she said sincerely. The rose was as big as the palm of her hand, fully bloomed. 

He ducked his head at her compliment and let his shirt fall back down. “You said yours was on your back, right?” he asked, unable to help himself.

Jack looked up at him, still hovering close. “Yeah, right in the middle. You, uh, saw some of my scars already. It’s a little below my shirt line.”

Gibbs nodded. “Can I see it?” he asked gently.

Silent, and considering it fair, Jack turned and shucked off her jacket, glad she wore a tank underneath. She stared at the couch and slowly reached behind her, tugging the back of her top down a few inches, just enough for him to see. 

Gibbs took a sharp breath in. It was exactly how he knew it looked, even with the scars crossing over it. 

“I know it’s not a pretty sight, but I think the anchor made it out pretty unscathed,” she said, pushing down her self-consciousness at the condition of her back. 

“Jack…” he trailed off. 

She couldn’t stand the silence and turned to face him again, embarrassed despite herself. She opened her mouth to say something but he put a hand up, signaling her to be quiet. 

Jack watched, a little confused as he turned around toward the fireplace and pulled his shirt most of the way up his back, but her eyes soon saw the matching anchor identifier he revealed, exactly like hers. 

Her hands came up to cover her mouth, muffling her soft exclamation of “Holy cow.”

She suddenly felt a wave of emotion and didn’t stop herself this time as she reached out, running her fingers over his mark. 

His shoulders tensed at her touch, not knowing what she was thinking or what he should do. 

“Gibbs… I had no idea…”

He turned at that, dropping his shirt back down, suppressing the urge to run away from the situation. “When I heard you tonight-”

“You inhaled your beer,” she remembered out loud, still shocked. “Oh my god. It’s just - you have two marks?” She stepped back, sitting down hard on the couch. 

Gibbs tried to play it calm as he splashed a little more bourbon in both their glasses when he sat down too, still keeping some space between them. 

“Yeah. My mom did, too.”

Jack filed that little detail away for later, still overwhelmed at the turn the evening had taken. They both looked ahead into the empty fireplace, Gibbs silent and her still reeling. “So,” she said, trying to keep it light. “We’re soulmates.”

Gibbs cleared his throat. “It would appear so. But, Jack, you don’t have to-”

“Shush, I’m processing.” Jack gestured with her right hand, which landed on Gibbs’ leg. She kept it there as she took a healthy drink of her second bourbon. 

Instead of tension or dread, Gibbs felt almost light. The contact on his leg reassured him somehow, and being close to his soulmate and knowing about it made it feel different, like puzzle pieces interconnected at last. He relaxed back into his sofa and waited for Jack to process whatever she needed to process. He’d be there for her. 

Minutes passed in silence, but it was comfortable - a space to think without any pressure, warmed and loosened by bourbon. Finally, Jack broke the silence. 

“I think the anchors make sense with us, don’t you?”

Gibbs felt that Jack had moved on to the ‘acceptance’ stage of processing. “Don’ know. Guess it does. Anchors are steady, strong,” he shrugged, not one with words. Preferring action, he moved his left hand to slide under her right, turning it until their hands tangled between them.

Jack squeezed back. “Yeah, you’re definitely a strong one cowboy.”

“So are you, Jack.”

She let a beat pass, then huffed out a laugh. “You don’t think it’s referring to our mutual baggage load, do you?”

Taken completely off guard, Gibbs laughed and was joined by Jack, both of them near giggling at the implication. 

“No, but really, Gibbs. I’m - I’m shocked as hell but I’m also…” Jack sighed and looked at her soulmate, noticing not for the first time just how piercing his eyes were. “I’m glad it’s you. I won’t pretend to think I haven’t thought about us. Not perhaps on this level, I mean. I never thought I’d find my match, but still, Gibbs. This is a lot. For you too.”

“Yeah, but it’s not a bad thing,” Gibbs said. “I never really knew what to think of having two marks. Never sought out another match, figured she’d either appear or not.”

“And are you okay with my appearing?” Jack asked, not entirely hiding her nerves.

Gibbs turned to her and there was heat in his gaze. “Yeah, Jack. I am.”

Jack moved first, angling her head in a clear invitation that Gibbs accepted. People said that the first kiss between soulmates was electrifying and Jack would have to agree, feeling immediate sparks down her spine as Gibbs’ mouth pressed into hers. She deepened the contact, letting Gibbs take the lead. 

They broke apart, mutually needing to breathe. 

“Wow,” she said. “Pretty good kiss, Cowboy.”

Gibbs smirked, and they both leaned back on the couch, letting the night settle in around them as they adjusted to the possibility of a new future.

The anchors at their back were meant to be heavy, allowing them to settle down against a current and form a strong foundation, finding that strength in the other. They both felt it at that moment, the current pushing them a little closer together, a little more solid against the other. 

**Author's Note:**

> I love this particular version of the soulmate tropes so much! Let me know what you think, and if I got the identifiers right for everyone! Also, thank you to @dlodleo for letting me bounce ideas (and for giving me the lighthouse for Leon!!)


End file.
